


To Win at All Costs

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Artists RPF, British TV Celebrities RPF, The Big Painting Challenge
Genre: Bribery, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Neck Kissing, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: An alternative fictionalised version of how Oliver Freeston managed to win 2018's BBC Big Painting Challenge. Oliver is indeed a very worthy winner, and both judges know it, but the young handsome artist wants to completely secure his position as winner of the final by seducing one of the judges - Lachlan Goudie.





	To Win at All Costs

A young, bearded artist stood in front of what he _hoped_ to be his masterpiece. He tilted his head to one side and examined it, thoughtfully, his brush dangling down to the floor as he held it limply between exhausted fingers. Over the weeks, his skill-set had undoubtedly improved, but he was becoming weary and his arm was beginning to ache. He looked forward to the day he could set his brushes aside, if only for a few days. Aware of the presence behind him, he realised one of the Big Painting Challenge judges was observing him.

"How much do you want to win, Oliver?" the Scot asked him, in his beautiful Caledonian accent. The question was innocuous enough, but Oliver had seen the way Lachlan had been looking at him throughout this competition. To further put his theory to the test, he'd removed his shirt for the purposes of his self portrait, to see how the older man would react. Whether depicting his own naked form, or painting something much less sexually provocative, like the arboretum, he'd nonetheless seen Lachlan over his shoulder, keenly watching _not_ the canvas or the artist at work, but simply the _artist_. And Oliver, _sneaky_ as it may seem, saw an opportunity to get ahead in this competition.

"I'll do _whatever_ it takes," he said, flashing a smile. He turned back towards his work in progress, a painting of the ship in front of him, and counted to three under his breath before making his next move. He knew that his tin of artist's tools was just behind him and he stepped backwards, knowing full well he would stumble. The brushes rattled as he caught the box with his foot. But, more crucially, he fell back straight into Lachlan's arms.

"Oh gosh," he cried, a false apology. "I'm sorry about that!"

"That's quite alright," Goudie replied. He relished the bodily contact with the younger man, who he'd started to form quite a crush on. They were now so physically close, he could even smell the scent of the shampoo Oliver had used in the shower that morning. Breathing into his hair, deeply, all manner of fantasies ran through his head - from Freeston naked in his bed, to bending him over here and now and having his wicked way with him. He'd caught the hunk in his hands, but not yet in his net. However, something told him that _this_ contestant's eagerness to win might just change all of that.

Oliver was an openly gay man and, in being so, had become well-acquainted in the art of knowing when another man was interested in him and when one _wasn't_. And, as an ex-sportsman, he was fiercely competitive. If anyone thought that ballet dancing was in any way less competitive than football or athletics then, believe me, it wasn't. "You know," he whispered, still loosely nestled in Lachlan's embrace, "I think I have a better angle of the subject from here. Mind if I stay?" He heard Lachlan swallow.

Even though Anil's station was nearby, what with him painting the same subject, the artist himself was taking a break. And besides his fellow competitor, they were essentially standing in the middle of nowhere, the remaining two challengers choosing to paint at the other side of the dockyard. "Anil's not here, you know," Oliver confirmed this to Lachlan, his statement laced with suggestion. "And I could do with a little extra tutorage - something just for me," he grinned. "Don't have to share it with the others."

Goudie's hands were still either side of the younger man's back, from where he had steadied him earlier when he'd tripped backwards. He slowly slid those hands down his protege's sides, through his green jersey and caressing a torso he had been admiring not long before during Freeston's half-naked self portrait. A grip finally upon his hips, Lachlan sharply pulled him back so that Oli's backside would meet directly with his own crotch, and a cock that was stiffening somewhat from all of this talk.

Now the judge was in the perfect position to reach that gorgeous neck, which Oliver had painted in that very same portrait, with the sinew and muscle of his neck and back so expertly laid down in many blocks of different flesh tones. The piece was so captivating and alluring that Lachlan had nothing but praise and admiration for it, and now he was kissing that neck for real, capturing it with his mouth in a way only previously captured in acrylics.

Oliver dropped the paintbrush in reaction to the sudden burst of pleasure which was the stimulation of nerve endings on his neck, and moaned in approval. His hand now free, he wrapped it around Lachlan's own neck, gently dragging fingernails over tender skin as he pulled him closer, forcing the Scot to kiss deeper and harder. With his left hand, he reached round to Goudie's arousal and squeezed.

"You just might win this thing," Lachlan murmured into his ear, between kisses and then gasps, as the aspiring artist started to grope his erection through his suit trousers. Oliver flicked the zip of his fly, teasingly, as if to say, " _Let's free what's locked inside these trousers_." But he was faced with a little shyness and resistance. "Not here," there was protest, though a need for the contrary to happen was more than clear within Lachlan's voice.

Contradicting himself entirely, the presenter then went and unzipped himself. "Don't take it out," he pleaded, "We'll be seen." Instead, Oliver merely slipped his hand inside the professional artist's underwear and played with his cock within the confines of his boxer shorts. It throbbed and grew in his grip.

Meanwhile, Lachlan's hands were moving round from his hips to his crotch, but not before taking in the round firmness of his toned, ex-ballet dancer's bottom. His fingers roamed quickly, and were just short of grabbing the bulge at the front of Oliver's trousers when they were stopped in their tracks.

"You were cruel to me in the last judging," came a confession, probably not at the best time.

"I know. I'm sorry, " Goudie lamented. "Judging is really difficult. I just try to be as objective as possible but it can come off as heartless." He rested his head on Oliver's shoulder. "It's hard to remove yourself when you feel yourself getting close to a contestant," he was breathless, his voice embarrassed and tinged with regret.

"Well, we're definitely close now... and it's _definitely_ hard," Freeston laughed, and so did Goudie.

" _Very_ hard. Even harder to stop ourselves."

By now, Lachlan's hands had found Oliver's privates. He had clearly gone commando and his dick must have been straining something awful against his zip. "But we _have_ to stop," the judge said, saddened by the circumstances. He was dying to unleash Freeston's erection, so large within those paint-splattered grey jeans, but knew he had to restrain himself. Anil was likely to be returning soon to complete his painting.

Oliver, if truth be told, was enjoying himself too, what with Lachlan being rather handsome and his own partner being so far away in Texas. But he knew _why_ he was doing this - he wasn't doing this for fun; he was doing it to win. "So," he turned to Goudie, who had just about managed to tear himself away from kissing his neck once again. "Am I the winner?" He began to wank the older man's cock with a firm and strong hand.

Lachlan's knees began to buckle as he was overwhelmed by the wonderful feeling. "Careful," he groaned. "You'll make me come."

"Yeah," Oli hissed, "All over your nice trousers if you don't crown me the winner."

"God. Yes. Anything," there was a cry. He was panting, desperate for release, but he couldn't come right now. He felt his cock slip from Freeston's hand but it was no _real_ relief, he came to realise as he zipped himself up. The hardness pressed uncomfortably against his pants. His trousers would feel far too tight for a while to come. "Promise I can see you later, Oliver?" he blurted.

The young artist stepped forward towards his canvas, turned around and winked, "Maybe."

Lachlan beamed, "Right... well, I'll leave you to it."

As he began to walk away from the artist's station, he noticed Anil coming back from his break and thanked God he had already had his pep talk with him before going over to Oliver, as he was still so painfully hard in his trousers. He made a point of going in the opposite direction, as he didn't want to be seen in this state. The winner-to-be would be taking care of his _problem_ later, if he resisted the urge to deal with it himself in the meantime. Still though, he couldn't help but smile. He'd seen all the paintings and Oliver's was the best by a mile anyway - he was _bound_ to win. But that certainly wouldn't stop Goudie from pretending to fix the result for him in exchange for a little _something_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.


End file.
